Vicious Quilliun

Cid doesn’t take orders. He tears things down, and the Drybone Anarchists give him plenty of room to break things. A Quilliun by blood and a menace by choice, Cid thrives in the wreckage and disorder of the Drybone Badlands, where chaos is more than a philosophy. It’s a way of life.

He’s small, fast, and harder to pin down than a greased weasel. His patchy leather jerkin hangs open, more ripped than worn, and his quills spike out in jagged rows from skull to tail. They say he once bit an envoy’s ear off because the man was “looking too rich,” and tied a tithe collector to the church gates, left him gagged and glaring, with a wooden sign around his neck that said, Tithe this. Cid’s been marked for death more times than he can count. But whether it’s luck, spite, or plain defiance, he’s still breathing.

Wherever the Drybone Anarchists start a riot, Cid’s often the one who lit the first match. He doesn’t leave messages. He leaves wreckage.